


Like the Sky is About to Fall

by lunardistance



Category: Sound Horizon
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Goddesses, M/M, Muteness, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardistance/pseuds/lunardistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, when Thanatos had no earthly vessel and the rainbow had only six colors, a goddess of harmony fell in love with a human prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Sky is About to Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ailiathirske](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ailiathirske).



> Written in response to a Tumblr meme prompt. Heavily inspired by EXO's "Baby Don't Cry", which was in turn inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Mermaid."

Once upon a time, there was a goddess that fell in love with a human.

This was not peculiar. During the days that humans still believed in gods and worshipped them, a deity taking interest in a mortal was not unheard of. Legends were often born out of these romances, as well as offspring that would go on to carve their own epics across the tapestries of fate.

This story, it is said, started on one of those nights that Feggari hid her face, when a blue star streaked out of the sky. Other variations would tell you that it began before that; that the tale’s true beginning was when a young goddess looked down from her arc across the sky and saw a prince with amethyst eyes, when the god of love smiled and sprinkled her lips with sweet water so that she fell irrevocably for him.

At Moira’s mercy, the goddess, now guised in human form, washed up on the shore of Astra’s temple where the priestesses found her. Assuming her to be the victim of a shipwreck, they clothed her, fed her, and tried to ask of her origin. All attempts at the last were in vain, for the maiden did not speak a word.

At a loss, they named her Locria for the only clue of her past that she would give: the region that she pointed to on a map.

As Moira would have it, the very next day, the prince and his hunting companion visited the temple where his sister served. Delighted at his arrival, the priestess recounted the story of the young woman that had washed up on the beach, and their dilemma of how to return her whence she came. Intrigued at his sister’s story and desiring to offer his aid, the prince asked to see the maiden.

The moment she was lead out to meet him and deep blue eyes met violet, she drew close to his side and could not be persuaded to part.

Taking pity on the girl, he allowed her to return with him to the capital. Entrusting Locria’s safety to the prince and his companion, the priestesses of Astra bid their foundling farewell. Witnesses would say that Astra’s hearth, then unlit, suddenly flared up as the maiden made her silent goodbyes.

Locria was received warmly at the capital by the king and queen and crown prince, who were similarly moved by her story. She was taken in and treated like a princess, given the finest of robes and allowed to dine with the royal family. The people wondered at this beautiful stranger; some said she was a witch who had cast a spell on the prince and was using him to live in luxury, while others insisted that she was a princess from a foreign country whose grand ship fell to bad fortune at the whims of Thyella.

Regardless of whatever rumors sprung about her, Locria did not say a word. Her only concern was to follow the prince around as closely as she could, so much that his best friend and the palace servants began calling her his little shadow. The prince, in turn, was amused by her devotion, gladly spending most of his waking hours with her at his side and even allowing her to take the rooms next to his.

He would tell her about his day, about the kingdom, about how much he longed to be as the birds that fly freely across the sky, and she would listen to him. She never replied, but her eyes spoke volumes about how much she heard him and understood him and felt as he did.

And though she never spoke and never sang at gatherings as the other women did, she always danced for him. All others stopped when she took to the floor, moving to the music with the grace and passion of a nymph. When she danced, it was as though she became the music itself, embodying the beat and rhythm and melody and song with every fiber of her being.

It was as though all the words she longed to say spilled out in the moments that she danced.

"You are beautiful," he told her as he reclined on his couch while she sat at his feet, her face flushed with exertion but eyes trained ever on him. He reached out a hand to brush the sweat-slick fringe from her face, fingers catching in the strands of gold. "You are beautiful and I love you, Locria."

Witnesses would say that there was no sweeter, more joyous music played than the music on that night.

Even when the prince set out to neighboring lands the following morning, there was nothing that could dampen the maiden’s mood. Her joy was a near tangible thing, cheer spreading throughout the palace, flowers blossoming in her wake.

However, her happiness was not to last forever, for when the prince rode back, there was one more person added to his retinue. A golden-haired man that rode at his side, with eyes like the sky and a lyre strapped to his hip.

At the prince’s behest, the man performed for the royal court, his fingers plucking out a miraculous song on his lyre. Unable to resist the call of the music, Locria stood and danced, becoming one with the song. The entire court applauded their performance, but when Locria sought the prince’s approving gaze, she found that it was not directed at her, but at the man.

Now, whenever she followed the prince, the lyrist was there as well. It had never bothered her when the prince’s best friend alone accompanied them, but there was a strange feeling of exclusion when she was with the prince and the lyrist. One day, she refrained herself from following them on one of their walks through the palace gardens. It was as if her presence was not missed at all.

Where joy had once sprung, now melancholy flourished. The buds that had bloomed brightly outside Locria’s rooms now drooped, forlorn and neglected. The maiden barely left her quarters anymore save for the few times that she would trail after the prince and the lyrist, and even then she fell several steps behind them that it was almost as if she walked alone. All gatherings found her seated solemnly at the sidelines, never to be persuaded to dance for them as she had before.

(In the midst of all this, people finally noticed that there were only five colors streaking through the sky in Brochi’s wake instead of the usual six.)

At the rate things were developing, no one was surprised when the prince announced his intent to marry the lyrist. The entire kingdom was delighted by the news and descended into a flurry of wedding preparations, for their beloved prince deserved nothing but the grandest.

The one person in the kingdom who sought desperately to be happy at the announcement but could not force herself to sequestered herself in her quarters, refusing to emerge even at the sweetest of entreaties. Eventually, news of the maiden reached the prince, who immediately headed down to her rooms and asked to be let in.

Unable to deny the only soul that could have asked anything of her, Locria unlatched her doors, unable to meet the gaze she had admired so.

"I have found him, Locria," he murmured, amethyst eyes alight with happiness. "I have found the one I have fallen in love with, and we are to be married."

Each word was like a knife through her heart; a blow that could not physically kill her, but brought her immense agony as though she were drowning in the river Styx itself.

He stepped closer, fingers entwining in the golden strands of her hair. “Beloved Locria, will you not be at my wedding and dance for me a last time?”

If it was for his sake, then she could not deny him anything. Closing her eyes, she gave her agreement.

The wedding ship set sail less than a month later to great fanfare. There was a celebration the likes of which the kingdom had rarely seen before. Locria threw petals to prepare the way for the couple, and when she hid her face during the ceremony, people said she was crying out of happiness.

The crown prince shot flares of bright light up into the sky to announce that the couple was wedded. The prince and the lyrist glowed with such irrepressible joy that even the sternest of hearts were touched. And when Locria finally took the space prepared on the deck and danced to the celebratory wedding song, not a single eye was left dry on the ship.

At the conclusion of the song, the prince and his new groom took Locria into their arms, each kissing her cheek and expressing their sincerest of thanks to her. She only bowed her head and pushed her gift into their arms before retreating beyond the crowd of well-wishers. The jewelry box was fit to bursting with pearls.

The celebrations lasted well into the night, and so it was unsurprising that none stirred even as five bright stars descended from the sky.

"Poor little sister," the First Harmonia crooned as the Fifth drew Locria into her arms.

"For a mortal?" the Second Harmonia asked not unsympathetically, a hand reaching out to stroke through her youngest sister’s hair.

"I loved him," the maiden wept, tears falling freely and pooling into her lap as pearls. "I love him. I am in love with him."

"You must return with us now," the Third Harmonia said soothingly. "There is nothing left for you here. The world of mortals holds nothing but pain and sorrow, for them and for us."

"I cannot leave," Locria shook her head. "I am in love with him."

"Take this bitter water," the Fourth Harmonia urged, pushing forth a flask. "Put it on your lips to break the enchantment cast upon you."

"I will not!" Locria cried.

"Then cut your ties with him," the Fifth Harmonia murmured, withdrawing a dagger from her robes. "Cut his string of fate so there will be nothing tying you down to this world."

Locria took the dagger with numb hands and wept even harder. Gathering her courage, she crept into the room of the newly wedded couple, finding them entwined with each other on their wedding bed. The white strings of fate that wound around each of their necks glowed as brightly as ever, but now there was a red string tied around each of their smallest fingers that connected them to each other.

She held the prince’s string of fate between her fingers, holding the blade against it—

—and found that she could not cut it. Her love for him far outweighed all desire to send him into the arms of Thanatos, to take him away from his family and friends and the person he had been destined for.

Had she been mortal, she might have turned the knife onto herself. Instead, she left the room to meet her sisters’ serious gazes.

"Were you able to cut his thread?" her eldest sister asked.

"I was not," Locria shook her head. "I could not bear to send him to death and tear him away from his happiness, even if the happiness was not with me."

Her sisters smiled and gathered her into their arms. “Now you truly know what it means to be a goddess,” her sister who had given her the knife, the sister that she loved most, whispered into her ear.

"Are you ready to depart?" her second sister asked as the third retrieved Locria’s robes.

"Yes, I—"

"Locria?"

Her sisters disappeared with nary a whisper as Locria turned to find the prince and his groom emerging from their quarters. The prince clutched a fresh pearl in his hand — a stray tear, most likely, that she had not been able to keep from falling.

Where her heart was once filled with pain and desire upon looking at him, now it knew naught but the purest of joys. “I must leave now,” she said, and her voice was as the merriest of waves rolling on the surface of the sea.

Neither of them could speak, stunned by the sound of her voice, now knowing without a doubt that she was one of _them_ , the sisters of Harmonia—

"I loved you, truly, and from you I learned about love in turn. For that, I bestow my last gift upon you."

And her lips opened just as Helios peeked over the horizon, the purest of voices rising from her throat. It was a song for an eternal bond between lovers that could never be broken; a prayer for happiness and health and countless years together before eternal repose in the fields of Elysion.

The world was aglow with the morning sun, and love washed over every nook and cranny of the grand ship. The slumbering occupants of the vessel found themselves curling closer to their loved ones, tears slipping from behind closed lids.

The prince and the lyrist cried freely at the conclusion of the song, enfolded in the direct blessing of a goddess. She leaned up to kiss the lyrist’s forehead, and cupped her hand over the prince’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and removed the deep purple mantle from his back, bundling her in it.

She smiled, her fingers touching where his hand remained on her shoulder.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

They obeyed, keeping their eyes shut even as a bright flare of light exploded from beyond their lids. The brightness faded, and by the time they opened their eyes again, only the sun greeted them from his place in the sky.

And that is why the rainbow has seven colors.


End file.
